The Rose
by SoTotallyOsm
Summary: Actions speak louder than words. Witch-centered. HunterxWitch if you want it to be.


Again, it's been a while since I've written anything. I don't own L4D or any of the characters or ideas.

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The humidity was almost overpowering. It had stopped raining long enough to the sun to shine between the dusty grey clouds, and the warmth from its rays was causing much of the remaining water to evaporate into the air. Every time she breathed in, she couldn't hold back the slight choke she got from the density of the vapor. It felt like it was suffocating. No matter where she went, it was the same. This dark, dank place was always covered with water and she honestly hated it here Ducatel, Mississippi.

There were others of her kind here. She was originally from a town thirty miles from this one, but her hopeless wandering had her come across the draft of wind which carried the lingering scent of the sugar cane. Why it was so appealing, she didn't know. Perhaps it was because she never ate; she always moved around during the day and moped around, and at night she would sit down because she really didn't like walking around in the dark. The smell of sugar brought her to this place. She would never eat it, no. Every time she thinks about sampling the bags of raw sucrose in the storage barn always left her with a sickening feeling in her gut. But, oh, that smell was so nice.

She was the average Witch. Her platinum blond hair dulled with the infection and constant downpour of rain; the roots of her hair tinged a pastel pink just like her eyes. Her build was scrawny to say the least, her bones angular and no traces of excess fat at all. However, her arms and legs were deftly toned. It seemed to be that way with all of the other Witches she had seen around here. Her clothing was tattered and the fabric bleached an ugly off-white because of the sun. It did little for her already-low self-esteem.

Never once did she try to converse with another of her kind. They didn't seem like they'd be very interesting to talk to. In fact she didn't think herself interesting enough to talk to, so she was much too wary to approach anyone. A low whimper came from her, the palms of her hands rubbing at the irritated flesh around her eyes. No matter how much she sobbed the tears never came. The thought of being so alone with so many... infected around made her feel worse about herself. Everyone always avoided her. The common infected wandered around her like she was the plague, and the special infected only watched her from a distance.

About a week ago she noticed a Hunter watching her. He'd always be hiding amongst the pipe system, behind the brick walls, or on top of the catwalk in the middle of the mill. He never showed any initiative to approach her, so she generally ignored him. Once, however, she did stare at him when he got within ten feet of where she was sitting. Her eyes had a sinister red glow to them, which seemed to affect her vision as well, and it was enough to make the special infected back off.

When she was really spiraling in her chronic depression-it just never went away, and she always felt tired and worthless-she wouldn't even notice if a pack of common infected ran right past her. Such was the case with a group of survivors who were traveling through the area. The rain was terrible that day, she remembered...

Currently, she could hear another Witch crying out in the clearing. The sound of her cries mixed with her own echoed from the walls and off the machinery. The constant drizzle of rain had her hair sticking to her skin and the mud beneath her feet was beginning to sink lower and lower. It was a rather unpleasant feeling.

A low growl broke her concentration, though it didn't appear to physically alarm her. Her long, sickeningly black and red claws covered her face. The angle of the claws closed perfectly to frame her face, keeping out the sunlight and allowing her to muffle her sobs. The source of the growl made itself known; the Hunter stepping in the way and blocking her path. She subconsciously stopped and parted her fingers to allow her eyes to adjust to the sunlight and image in front of her. She gave a warning snarl herself, not wanting to be disturbed as she was walking.

The small sliver of an opening was suddenly blocked by a strange pink color. It took her a long moment to process through her mind that the special infected must have held something up in front of her face. She was about to complain, claws being lowered into a defensive position at her sides, but she paused at the last moment. A rather dumbfounded expression hit her, and she stared down at the offering the other held up to her. The Hunter's growl and insistent waving of the rose finally got her to react. She shook her head, not wanting it. All she wanted was to be alone.

The growl became a bit more angry, as if he didn't want to be rejected. As she moved to walk around him, he stopped her once more to push the rose towards her face. The soft petals briefly brushed against her nose and chapped lips, causing her to let out a startled, "Ah!" Figuring that he wasn't going to go away until she took it, she reached out and grabbed the rose by its stem. The Hunter perked up, curious as to what she would think of the 'gift'.

The smell of the rose was almost as lovely as the sickly-sweet smell of the sugar all around them. Where he must have found it was beyond her, and she was actually happy that he would give her something so sweet. However, the tiniest hint of her smile quickly disappeared as her claws cut the stem in two, allowing the rose to fall into the murky water beneath her. The petals took in the water, discoloring it and causing most of the petals to fall away. The soft drizzling had the petals floating in a circular pattern in the water.

The Hunter stared. And stared. He didn't appear to be happy that she took it, nor angry that she had dropped and ruined it.

Before he could have a chance to respond in any manner, she turned away and began sobbing again. She'd ruined the one gift someone had given her, and she could do nothing more than feel sorrowful for what she did. Tears stung in her eyes, causing her to wipe at them again, and she realized just how long it had been since she had actually cried last.

The next day, the same Hunter brought her a vibrant red rose.

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A/N: I just wanted to write something with the Witch. I'm not sure what to think of how it turned out, since I'm tired and I just let it write itself.

If you wish to recommend something you want to see me write, leave a review stating so and I'll try my best if I can.

Reviews are welcomed!


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